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CHAPTER TWENTY-FINLEY

I’m lying on his chest, warm and boneless and wrapped in the aftermath of something I don’t even have words for.

Koa’s fingers trace up and down my spine in slow, lazy strokes. His skin is damp. His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek like the rhythm of something ancient.

His heart.

Still thudding.

Maybe mine.

I hope it’s mine. Cause I know mine belongs to him.

Without a doubt.

Neither of us speaks for a while.

There’s just breathing. Skin on skin.

The distant hum of the air conditioner. And the way our legs are tangled together under the twisted sheets like we don’t remember where one of us ends and the other begins.

I swallow.

I should say something.

But what do you say after you’ve had your soul rocked out of your body and handed back to you by a man who looks like sin and sounds like your forever?

He shifts beneath me, just enough to kiss the top of my head.

“You alright?” he murmurs.

I nod.

Then I whisper, “Yeah. Just thinking.”

His chest stills. “About what?”

I pick at a wrinkle in the sheet, suddenly hyper-aware of how real this all feels.

How fast.

How deep.

How dangerous.

Because I didn’t plan for this. I didn’t plan to fall for someone who plays like a warrior and kisses like a poet.

Someone who makes me laugh and moan in the same breath.

But here I am.

And I am falling.

Hard.

I glance up at him. He’s watching me, eyes soft but stormy, like he’s bracing for me to bolt again.

So I do the scariest thing I can think of.

I tell him the truth.

“That felt like more than sex.”

He doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t look away.

Just says, voice steady and sure, “That’s because it was.”

I blink.

“Is that okay?” he asks, and for once, Koa Jackson sounds unsure.

I smile.

Then press my lips to his chest. Right over his heart.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “It really is.”

His eyes search mine for a second longer, like he’s trying to make sure I feel it too.

That it wasn’t just the sex talking.

That I meant what I said.

I did.

Boy oh boy, I really did.

“Good.” His mouth curves, and it’s that rare, slow smile that hits me right in the chest. “No take backs, Red. You’re mine now.”

I swallow and nod, my voice soft. “I’m yours.”

And I hope with every fragile, fluttering piece of my heart that he means what I think he means.

That I’m not just his for the night.

That this is more than lust or proximity or tour bus adrenaline.

That this is something real.

“Get some rest,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep and tenderness. “We’ve got to be back on the road soon. Coach’ll have my arse if I’m late for practice.”

Then he leans in and kisses me again—sweetly this time.

No teeth.

No tongue.

Just lips and warmth and quiet promise.

And it is every bit as delicious as when he’s being naughty.

I curl into his side, cheek resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart while his fingers resume their slow path up and down my spine.

Within minutes, my body gives in to the pull of exhaustion. We fall asleep tangled together, skin on skin, hearts open, walls down.

Next morning. On the road to Consequence.

The SUV is quiet again.

But this time, it’s not tense.

It’s comfortable.

Koa’s hand rests on my thigh as he drives, thumb moving in idle circles, like he’s grounding us both.

He’s in joggers and a fresh tee, damp hair pushed back, sunglasses low on his nose.

He looks wildly handsome. Like a rock star or a sexy crime lord or something that should be illegal on public roads.

I’m wearing one of his shirts.

No bra, as usual, just a cami beneath it.

My hair in a messy bun.

And I feel totally wrecked, but in the best possible way.

The drive back to Consequence feels different.

Not just because my body is sore in places I forgot could be sore—or because my heart keeps stuttering every time he glances at me with that post-sex smugness he barely tries to hide.

But because now, we have to face reality.

The team.

Carolina.

Coach Dane.

The fans who comment thirst traps under his posts.

Mr. Knight, the owner—our boss!

The world.

I bite my lip, suddenly nervous.

“You good?” Koa asks, eyes on the road.

I nod. Then shrug. “I think so.”

He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it, not letting go. “You can talk to me, Red. Even when your brain’s doing that tornado thing.”

I huff a laugh. “It’s just, we didn’t exactly talk logistics last night.”

“Logistics?”

“Like what this means. What we are. If I’m going to be?—”

“My girlfriend?” he says, deadpan.

I blink.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “That.”

He turns onto the highway, accelerates, then gives me a look.

“You think I let you ride me bare, scream my name, and then hold you all night just for shits and giggles?” he asks.

I flush. “I mean, I don’t?—”

His voice is calm. Certain. “You’re mine, Finley. In every way that counts.”

My heart leaps. “Okay.”

“And I’m yours,” he adds, quieter now. “I told you already. I don’t say that lightly.”

The weight of it settles between us.

Solid. Real.

I lean my head against the window, smiling like an idiot.

“So, I am your girlfriend.”

“Damn straight.”

And that means Koa Jackson is my boyfriend.

Holy shit.

This is actually happening.

And I have no idea what comes next.

But I know I’m ready to find out.